


His Sweater

by PineWreaths



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PineWreaths/pseuds/PineWreaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mabel is desperate, as time and circumstances threaten to rob her of another memory of her brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble is inspired by this picture: http://sovonight.tumblr.com/post/128671062485

The blue sweater was all she had left of him, of her brother. She wore it incessantly; Mabel was never one to wear black if she could help it, and blue always felt more…Dipper-y, to her.

Smiling, she could remember when she had first made the sweater for Dipper, and it was one of the few ones he’d ever worn more than once. He’d taken to wearing it fairly often in the cold winters, when his vest wasn’t enough to keep the chill away.

Eventually, after some glue or food or something would get spilled, or after she’d worn it daily for two straight months and it’d begun to smell, she’d wash it. Each time, she’d be sitting, waiting as the dryer buzzed, ripping it out to check it carefully for damage or wear. She always washed and dried it alone, nearly screaming at her mom when a pair of jeans had made their way in once.

After checking it for damage, she’d slip it on, and for a few fleeting minutes, enjoy the warmth and snug puffiness and above all else, the faint, uniquely Dipper smell that nothing else, not all the pictures and videos and saved cellphone messages, could replicate.

It had been faint, so faint she almost couldn’t tell last time she’d cleaned it. She’d put off this cleaning as long as she could, but some  _asshole_  at school with a cup of cottage cheese and the coordination of a pithed frog had spilled it across, and her mom had sadly but firmly made her wash it.

The dryer buzzed, and she cracked one of her nails on the metal, ignoring the pain and the now-ruined watermelon nail polish art, and yanked out the blue fabric. She shrugged it on, willing the faint neutral odor of the scentless detergent to fade away faster, and she breathed in tentatively.

 

 

Nothing.

 

 

All she could detect was the faint smell of soap, and cinnamon from that morning’s pancakes.

She ran, out to the garage; There was too much of a smell of greenery and the street mingled outside, and her room was constantly exuding the smell of some leaking fruity lip gloss or scented marker. Out in the garage, though, a faint mustiness was cut down by the chill of the outside air.

Mabel retreated into Sweatertown, her breath catching as she took the deepest lungful she could.

 

 

Nothing.

 

 

She bit down a sob, gasping out breaths as her shoulders began to shake, breathing in as deeply as she could, eyes clenched shut to try and focus, to detect anything.

 

 

Nothing.

 

 

She slumped back against the side of the garage, choking out a strangled sob, and then just whimpering, crying as she snuggled into the cooling fabric.

 

After a time, the warmth of the sweater was spent fighting against the chill of the garage, and Mabel Pines had lost another memory of who her soulmate had been.


End file.
